


9.03 Ficlet

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:17:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A request for Dean and Zeke rescuing Cas from April. I got a little carried away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	9.03 Ficlet

Dean hasn’t looked at Castiel since the boys, well Dean and Ezekiel, brought him back to the bunker.

They had shown up right as April was driving the angel blade into Castiel’s gut, twisting it into his flesh with an expression of such joy, Castiel wouldn’t have found that expression so nice when they were making love in her bed.

He had been fooled. Again. The demon, who he’d thought was a human woman, had deceived him. Castiel must’ve been asleep when she’d stolen the celestial blade he had taken from Hael. Of course, that’s how those things go in Castiel’s experience. Every wrong deed is rewarded by harsh and immediate repercussions.

Still, though, it hurt. The betrayal, that is. He couldn’t even scream as the weapon dug into him, a white hot pain flashing through his limbs before… numbness. That’s when the Winchesters broke through the door, wearing those menacing expressions that they do.

It didn’t take long for Dean to kill April; he’d snuck up behind her with the demon knife and stabbed her through the chest. Castiel watched unblinking as the light faded from her eyes, a desperate grimace being the last thing to call her face home.

But that wasn’t what had shocked Castiel the most. No, that award goes to Sam. Sam who has been almost as adamant as his brother about refusing to be a vessel. Sam who has outrun the devil to the point of hopelessness, only to let him in with his own cunning on his side. Sam, who’d been so weak all of those weeks before. Sam, whose eyes had glowed with the celestial intent of Castiel’s brother Ezekiel.

After that, everything had been sort of a whirlwind. Castiel vaguely remembers being carried to the Impala and plopped into the front seat. He remembers the warm hand in his own, tensing up with worry as terse words were spoken.

He remembers being tucked into a soft, plush bed; the room was decorated with knives and historical nonsensicals. Castiel dozed off after that point, he knows that much. Occasionally he’d wake to Dean or Ezekiel checking up on him. He’d always know which visit was which; Dean’s visits carried with them worried pats and touches, while Ezekiel’s favored more… messy methods of checking his whereabouts.

On a particularly lucid day, Castiel scooted himself so he reclined against the headboard. He’d been with the Winchesters for approximately four days now, the longest since they were hunting Lucifer.

Both Dean and Ezekiel had stopped in repeatedly, mostly to keep him company. Again, Dean patted him on the shoulder, his lingering touch leaving little tingles where their skin connected. He’d walked out shortly with a parting grin, but was met by someone in the hallway by the sound of his footsteps halting and the exasperated, “Zeke, you should really stop doing that.”

“You and my brother… you share a unique companionship.”

“Yeah? What about it?” Dean asks, his voice slightly higher than normal from what Castiel can understand.

“Perhaps this companionship isn’t simply of a more comradery nature,” Ezekiel replies. His tone is more thoughtful than Dean’s. If Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d say that was sureness in his brother’s voice.

Dean doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t walk away either. There is no footsteps, no awkward shuffling. Just silence. Castiel waits for a few moments before he decides to turn his attention back to the book lying on the nightstand.

“What an odd creature you are, Dean Winchester,” Ezekiel muses. Castiel can actually  _hear_  the grin in his words. “You cannot admit lo-.”

“Shut it, Zeke.”

“But you do, in fact, lov-”

“I said shut it.” Dean sounds almost embarrassed. There is another sound from the hallway: someone shifting their weight from one foot to the other. Is Dean… nervous? “Get out of here, I need to, uh, check on Cas.”

There is a light chuckle and the sound of light footsteps fading away. Just one set of footsteps. Dean walks back into Castiel’s, well, Dean’s room and seats himself on the edge of his bed. Castiel can’t look away from the pages he’s not reading.

Dean fidgets minutely and plays with his fingers before he says anything. When he does, it’s not as Castiel expected.

“I, uh, suppose you heard all that, huh.”

“…yes, you have supposed correctly.”

Castiel tears his eyes from the dead poet’s words and peers at Dean, who’s sitting patiently with a growing blush blooming from the back of his neck and spreading quickly to his entire face.

“Dean, do you l-,”

“God dammit, Cas.”

“Well, I just want you to know that I love you, despite your feelings toward me.” Castiel lets a small smile fall across his features as he stares at his righteous man. Dean stills, then slowly shifts so he’s facing Castiel. His eyes are still avoiding Catiel’s gaze, though.

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

Castiel watches as his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Then, much to Castiel’s surprise, he crawls up the bed until he’s seated flush against Castiel’s side. His mouth goes dry and he turns his eyes to Dean’s lap.

“Well, um, in that case, I, uh, lov-,”

Castiel doesn’t let Dean finish. His book drops to his lap when he brings his hands to Dean’s face in as close to a caress as he can manage. Then, because he’s new at this, he leans his face closer and closer to his best friend, stopping when they’re noses bump into each other.

Dean finishes the movement. He winds a hand into Castiel’s hair and pulls him in, lips hitting lips in a warm and, frankly, overdue kiss. Castiel mimics Dean’s movements as best he can; when Dean opens his mouth, so does Castiel. When Dean’s tongue runs along his lower lip, he lets his own slip into Dean’s mouth. A sudden occurrence pulls him away- a reference, as Dean would say.

Dean stares in question when Castiel places his hand back onto Dean’s and catches his breath. When he does, he mutters Dean’s favorite line, grinning all the while.

“I know.”


End file.
